


Lady of the Forest

by RandomPanda



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Adaptation Expansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 17:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15466356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomPanda/pseuds/RandomPanda
Summary: Throughout her life, Deirdre had heard she shouldn’t associate with men. Thus far, she’d stayed true to this by speaking no more than necessary to the gentlemen she encountered, regardless of how they carried or presented themselves. The few times they pushed too far, she brushed them off with relative ease, sometimes on her own, sometimes thanks to another man intervening. Whatever the case, she tried keeping all interactions polite but brief.So the last thing she expected was for a man to fall into her lap.





	Lady of the Forest

Throughout her life, Deirdre had heard she shouldn’t associate with men. Thus far, she’d stayed true to this by speaking no more than necessary to the gentlemen she encountered, regardless of how they carried or presented themselves. The few times they pushed too far, she brushed them off with relative ease, sometimes on her own, sometimes thanks to another man intervening. Whatever the case, she tried keeping all interactions polite but brief.

So the last thing she expected was for a man to fall into her lap.

Not literally, of course. A battle broke out atop the high hill, and the cacophony of noise had yet to cease. Deirdre had been ready to run before a man dressed in white and blue flew over the edge, rebounded off the slope, and crashed on the dirt and grass a mere three paces in front of her. He rolled onto his back and went still. Deirdre froze, trying to process what just happened.

One thought shook her out of the stupor: _Any enemies he has up there might start looking for him._

Half aware of her own movements, Deirdre rushed to the man. His white clothes and blue cloak would’ve looked as pristine as any nobleman’s if not for the torn fabric, plus the smears from dirt and grass. All from the battle, no doubt. His injuries appeared minor, save for a growing red stain on his side. He’d need treatment somewhere safe, not out here.

Deirdre slipped her basket to the elbow and dug her hands under the man’s shoulders. How she managed to move him without stepping on her own dress or knocking the basket, she wasn’t sure. Straining, she dragged the man to a cave. She’d passed the cave many times en route to the berry bushes, and little of note lay inside. Thick foliage hid its entrance well enough, but it wouldn’t hold up under a close examination. It would provide sufficient cover for now. They’d just have to move later.

Somehow, she brought the man into the cave and left no obvious trail. The tall grass helped, and the dipping branches concealing the entrance folded back to their usual positions. Deirdre let go of the man with a grunt, breathing hard from the exertion. Though the foliage blocked a good deal of light, she saw well enough to distinguish color, including the man’s most prominent injury. Deirdre set the basket aside and steadied her breathing, drew upon the power of the spirits, and placed her hands above the injury. The glow of the healing spell grew until it fit like a ball in her hands.

While the spell worked to mend the wound, Deirdre studied the man’s features. A tangled mess of blue hair parted over the right eye; a smooth face and set jaw line; and, as she’d observed earlier, the frayed clothes of a nobleman. Smears from the ground did little to hide the bruises, never mind the injury she now tended. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she’d seen this man before.

 _Now I remember,_ she realized. _At Marpha Castle. He helped me there._

Five days ago, some soldiers entered Marpha and defeated Munnir, the eldest son of King Batou of Verdane. While the soldiers secured the county in a matter of hours, Munnir’s remaining troops trickled out at a crawl. One ruffian had stayed behind and caught sight of Deirdre, and as some men had done in the past, this one tried to run off with her. He’d gone so far as to grab her wrist until a nobleman dressed in white and blue drove him off. She had welcomed the nobleman’s intervention, and he proved himself kind and polite, but she was quick to leave for home. She wondered, however, if he was the Sigurd oft mentioned in the rumours of late. The timing of when a small force from Grannvale marched into Verdane would make it a good possibility…

Now the same mysterious nobleman lay before her, unconscious, winded, and wounded. Deirdre could do little for the blood stain, but at least the injury would fade soon. And with it, she would’ve returned his kindness. She did say a thank you before, but this felt better.

The injury healed over the course of several minutes. Any lingering damage would heal on its own, so Deirdre ended the spell. She strained to listen for any hints of the battle. The nobleman had yet to wake, so she crept close to the entrance, taking care not to disturb the foliage. The cave muddled most sounds beyond a few steps from the entrance, however, so nothing like clashing blades rang. She heard neither birds nor people. Wind rustled the greenery of the Spirit Forest, but no other sounds went out.

Deirdre breathed deep, all but muting herself. She returned to the nobleman’s side and shook his shoulder, keeping her voice low. “Wake up.”

He didn’t move at first. On the second try, he snapped awake, and he might’ve shot straight up if Deirdre hadn’t place her other hand on his chest. She gestured for him to keep quiet, during which his blue eyes changed from shocked to focused. For a while, he appeared to listen for anything beyond the cave. Nothing dangerous made its presence known. Finally, he met her gaze. “We met before, didn’t we?”

Relieved, Deirdre sighed. “Yes. Back at Marpha.”

“Ah ha. Fancy seeing you here.” A smile crossed the nobleman’s face—a handsome one—but it soon faded. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a small cave in the Spirit Forest,” said Deirdre. “It sounded like a battle was happening. Something threw you off the hill. You landed not far from here.”

“Battle…” The nobleman jerked up, winced, and fell back. “That’s right. Prince Jamke needs help. I have to…”

She held her hands above him. “Don’t move like that. I just treated your biggest wound, but you’ll need more time for it to heal completely.”

He inspected the area under the bloodstained fabric. His hand came away clean, and he nodded. “Are they still fighting out there?”

Deirdre tried listening again, but nothing answered save for nature and her own heartbeat. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. It’s possible they moved away by now.”

“I have to return to the troops,” said the nobleman.

“Okay, but be careful. Your wound…”

“I know. I will.” The smile came back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” A soft giggle left her. “Consider it thanks for helping me before.”

Deirdre helped him up, slower this time. She took her basket, and the two shuffled towards the cave entrance. They kept low upon exiting, keeping the tops of the tall grass above their heads. He followed her lead, and the two used any stones, tree trunks, and more grass to stay out of sight.

They soon reached the nobleman’s landing spot near the foot of the steep hill. From above, Deirdre heard nothing but wind. Perhaps the nobleman heard something, given his closer proximity. He cocked an ear up, and after half a minute, a frown came over him. He shook his head, and they left the area.

“What’s wrong?” Deirdre asked.

“I doubt they’re still there,” he answered. “The troops must’ve moved on, but how much farther…?”

“Who?”

“My soldiers, and Prince Jamke’s.”

A sudden tension hit Deirdre, but she maintained an even tone. “You weren’t fighting against the prince, were you?”

“Nay, milady. Prince Jamke started fighting us, but only because he was ordered to. One of my soldiers convinced Prince Jamke to join us instead, so we rallied against a common foe. Sandima took command of the main army, and…”

Whatever relief she’d felt at the start of his answer changed into a seizing fear. “Sandima?”

“I’ve heard ill rumours about him. Verdane hasn’t been the same since he joined, yes?” The nobleman peered at her, turning curious. “What’s wrong? Do you know of him?”

“Yes,” said Deirdre, “and you heard right about his influence. Sandima has also sent search parties looking for me.”

The nobleman halted outright, staring wide-eyed. “You specifically? Whatever for?”

 _Because of my heritage,_ thought Deirdre. She considered telling the nobleman at least the gist, but did he need the extra burden on his mind? At length, she settled on, “I’m sorry.”

She eyed him, fearing a sudden change in his kindness. Instead, the nobleman’s puzzled stare gave way to a quick nod. Deirdre gave him a puzzled stare of her own.

“Perhaps I should apologize,” he said. “It seems I overstepped.”

“N-no, you did nothing wrong,” Deirdre assured, but the response sounded hollow. “Please, don’t worry about it. Let’s head this way.”

From there, she gestured to a semi-defined path in the woods. The cover of the forest would allow them to stand and travel faster. Once the steep hill fell out of sight, they did just that.

“Will this take us to the battlefield?” asked the nobleman. “We’re better off moving away. I thought I heard someone ordering scouts to search the area. Someone I didn’t recognize.”

“You’re right, so we’re not going there,” Deirdre agreed. “If you mean to defeat Sandima, you’ll want to prepare well. Rumours say he’s a powerful sorcerer, but I have something at home that can help.”

“What is it?”

“A special staff capable of nullifying magic. I can help you locate your troops, and you can take the staff with you. You have some soldiers who can use magic, yes?” A nod answered, and she brushed some bush branches away. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Yes?”

Deirdre stopped long enough to look the nobleman in the eye. “Don’t reveal my home to anyone.”

He placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head. “You have my word.”

Their eyes met again, and Deirdre recognized a real sincerity in the nobleman’s face and demeanor. She gave a small bob of the head. “Thank you.”

The nobleman cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, milady, it might help if we exchanged names.” With another bow of the head, he said, “I’m Sigurd of Chalphy. And you?”

She smiled. “Deirdre. Just Deirdre.” A thought struck her, and she asked, “Are you _the_ Lord Sigurd? He who entered Verdane from Grannvale several weeks ago?”

The man, Sigurd, turned sheepish like a small child caught making mischief. Ruefulness rode his words, though. “I hadn’t meant to launch an invasion, I assure you. But that is a rather long story.”

She elected not to ask further. In truth, she wasn’t quite sure if she could trust him in full, and he had no reason to trust her much. However, Sigurd had exhibited no signs of betraying her thus far. Had he wanted to kidnap her, or do something worse, plenty of opportunities had come and gone already. And with each passing moment they spent slipping through foliage, underbrush, and trees, Deirdre found Sigurd more trustworthy.

 _Get him what he needs, and send him on his way,_ she thought. A simple task. A bit sad as well, though, given how they’d forfeit any chance to form a lasting friendship. _But if it means ending Sandima’s control over Verdane, so be it._

* * *

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the dwindling light brimmed the tree canopy. The few flowers which glowed shined brighter as the sun set, but Deirdre conjured a sphere of light to make up the difference. Onset of night or no, she knew the path they walked now. Her white hair and dress, plus the spell, must’ve provided Sigurd with a sufficient guiding point after he spent a moment or two covering their tracks. His own white attire made him easy to spot as well.

They soon came upon the hamlet Deidre called home. Something looked off, however. Candlelight showed through the windows of the hamlet’s homes on a normal evening, creating an effect like fireflies dallying about. Furthermore, the silhouette of the buildings no longer resembled a collection of little hills. Several roofs stood cracked or broken; others, not at all. While neither flames nor smoke billowed, a faint trace of burnt wood lingered in the air.

Deirdre choked on her words. “Oh, no.”

She rushed ahead, half aware Sigurd hurried with her. Even in her panic, Deirdre took care to study the hamlet grounds. If a stranger or a hostile emerged, she’d hide. If a familiar face appeared instead, she’d call. Thankfully, she didn’t have to look for long. At the far perimeter of the village stood the elder and the rest of the hamlet’s population.

She ran to the elder and hugged him. “Thank goodness you’re all okay! What happened?”

“Some of Sandima’s men tore through here,” came the reply. “I don’t know if it was connected to the battle that broke out somewhere north. We barely had time to evacuate and hide. I fear they were looking for you, dear.”

 _No. No, no, no._ Deirdre withdrew, holding back a sob.

“We have no choice now,” the elder went on. “We must find a new place. Somewhere Sandima or the Cult won’t find us.”

Sigurd approached him and bowed. “I must apologize, good sir. My soldiers intended to defeat Sandima’s forces, but we had no clear way of reaching him without passing through the forests north of Marpha. Our march may have provoked Sandima and brought this upon your people. I’m sorry.”

The elder shook his head. “At ease, young man. Sandima has been searching the area for a couple years now. Perhaps it was but a matter of time.”

 _Before we’d have to flee,_ Deirdre thought. In all her life, the possibility had always hovered over the hamlet. It just never felt real until now. And because it felt real, she didn’t fight the tears, wiping them away soon after.

“Where will we go?” she asked.

“I have a place in mind,” said the elder. “It’ll take weeks to reach, but we won’t stay homeless for long. I made plans in case something like this happened.”

“I see…”

But a thought struck her. _Sandima’s looking for me. Most of the hamlet’s people don’t pose the same kind of danger I do. They might be safer without me… but where will_ I _go?_

Deirdre looked upon the hamlet ruins, then to the elder and the neighbors—the only home and family she had ever known. She went still. The question hounded her.

The elder rested a hand on her arm. “Your home’s missing the roof, but it’s fine otherwise. You have time to pack your things and help the nobleman there, but we must leave tonight.”

“Yes.” Except it sounded like they didn’t have any time to spare. The recent events replayed themselves in her mind in a blur. Had it really all occurred in a single day?

Deirdre went to her home, which was a simple, single room. As the elder said, the roof no longer sat atop the walls. Some pieces of it had fallen to the wood floor, but the majority of it rested in scattered heaps outside. A spell must’ve blown it off. At least a good portion of the interior remained intact, although what few furnishings rested within now lay in shambles and tatters. This included her bedroll.

Thankfully, it did _not_ include the trap door in the center. Neither did it include the valuables she kept underneath, such as the staff she intended to give to Sigurd. The trap door compartment also contained a spell book—a keepsake from her late mother—a rucksack, and various supplies to aid in surviving away from home. Deirdre set her basket of berries aside, and her body moved on its own while packing the necessities. It proved a welcome break from darker thoughts.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Deirdre shot a look at what was once the doorway. Sigurd stood there, taking in the scene, shoulders slack. Did he still blame himself? She blanked on how to answer.

“I’m okay here,” she managed. Memories of their talk earlier returned in a rush. “Oh, but… I said I’d help you locate your army. I should have enough room to cast the spell.”

Any guilt Sigurd exhibited transformed into the focus he’d shown on the way to the hamlet. He knelt where Deirdre instructed him to, and she gathered some stones used in channeling or focusing spells and set them in the cardinal directions. The spell book went in the middle, opened to a page in the latter third. A hand wave clockwise, another counterclockwise, and the stones and the book emitted a soft glow, which sprouted golden rings unifying the arrangement. Words from the page recreated themselves between the rings.

Deirdre peered at Sigurd, noticing how curious he looked. Curious, bewildered, and a bit anxious, if she had to guess.

A frown fell over him, although not at her. “I must admit to feeling a bit lost. Was there something I had to do?”

“Not while I was setting up, no, but now I have everything ready. A more elaborate setup could make the spell last longer, but this should give us about a minute.”

“That’s fine. So, what is this spell?”

“A scrying spell. We’ve used it to determine the weather in places beyond the hamlet, and also to find anyone who’d gone missing. But in order to locate someone, we’d need the help of a person who shares a close bond with the subject.” Deirdre cast what she hoped was an assuring smile. “This is where you come in.”

Sigurd snapped to attention.

So Deirdre told him, “If someone close to you is among your troops, think of this person now. Keep him or her in your mind, and place your hand upon one of the stones.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes. I’ll do the rest through the magic. And no, you don’t have to keep your eyes closed through the whole thing. Just keep thinking about the person.”

A quick chuckle left Sigurd, after which he breathed deep. He shut his eyes for a moment. Soon after, he placed his left hand on the nearest stone. Deirdre focused the magical energy through the glowing rings and lines, centering it above the book. A ball of light formed there and changed shape into a flat veil.

Within the veil, an image appeared. Outdoors, at night. Grass stretching by a vast body of water. Bushes bearing flowers and berries. A dense woodland near a fallen log. Sitting upon the log, a young woman wearing a rosy dress, white boots, and an orange cloak, her hair tied back. A brunette man in black, approaching and kneeling before her. The young woman smiled at him but turned inquiring. He spoke, but his words didn’t come through. She lowered her head.

Nothing changed in Sigurd’s posture, but his earlier awe faded beneath sadness. “Ethlyn…”

“Who is she?” asked Deirdre.

“My sister,” said Sigurd. “I wonder if she asked about me just now…”

“Perhaps she did. And the man with her?”

“Her husband, Quan.”

The scrying spell’s power waned, taking the image and the soft glow with it. Once the light vanished, Deirdre picked up the spell book and the stones and placed them into the rucksack. As for the staff, she held onto it and rose. Sigurd followed suit, but his brow furrowed.

Deirdre approached him. “Did it help?”

“It did, but I’m not quite sure on the exact location,” Sigurd replied. “All I had to go on was the water and the bushes. They must’ve taken camp by the Heart of Verdane, but where along its shores?”

The Heart of Verdane was the name given to the nation’s central lake. Some had joked, in whole or in part, how it was a landlocked sea instead of a lake as it occupied almost half the expanse of the nation. A long peninsula to the south provided the one spot where one could stand and see the other side of the lake, but any who lived in northern Verdane had no such view. The lake stretched too far for it.

“They can’t have gone too far south from Verdane Castle. We couldn’t mount a timely offense otherwise,” Sigurd muttered to himself. “There wasn’t any sand near Ethlyn, so not the beaches; they’re too far off. The forest would provide decent cover, but…”

Deirdre thought about the image. The bushes looked familiar, what with the bellflowers and orange berries they showed. And they _were_ orange; the people of the hamlet had brought them home many times. Even amid the dark of night, Deirdre noticed. They were a common sight northeast of the hamlet, but she tended to fetch them for special occasions due to being somewhat farther away than her usual stop.

Although, the instant she thought of all this, it hit her. “I think they’re close. Your sister and your troops.”

Sigurd shot her a surprised look. “What makes you say so?”

“I recognized the berries in the bushes near the woman.” Deirdre went on to describe her line of thought, concluding thus: “If you travel northeast from here and follow the waterway, you should find them.”

Sigurd’s face lit up. “That’s brilliant! Thank you very much, Deirdre.” The excitement dulled somewhat. “And, I apologize for burdening you.”

She didn’t realize she’d smiled back until then. “It was no trouble, milord. If you leave now, it would take you the better part of the night to reach them.”

“I’ve toughed through worse,” said Sigurd, albeit somewhat diffident. “Your healing has worked well. I should be okay so long as I keep under cover. I’ll have to. My sword didn’t follow me when I fell.”

“What made you fall?”

“Some dark magic. Sandima was none too pleased with Prince Jamke turning against him, and I was right there. I must’ve made a perfect target for his rage. Sandima’s, I mean.”

Deirdre looked upon the staff. “All the more reason you’ll need this, then.”

Sigurd nodded. “What will you do now?”

She went to answer, but the first word petered out before she finished saying it. In the midst of packing and performing the scrying spell, the darker thoughts had retreated. Now, however, they returned in earnest, clawing at the back of her mind. “I considered going with everyone… but it might not be enough.”

“What do you mean? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“It might not be enough to hide me,” she admitted.

Before she could consider telling him more, the elder appeared at the doorway. “Deirdre? Is everything all right? We must go.”

“I-I know.” Deirdre looked down. “I know…”

The elder approached and held her wrist. “What troubles you, child?”

Many thoughts and feelings whirled within, and Deirdre fought to keep them under control. “It won’t end with Sandima, will it? The entire Cult of Lopt will send another agent.”

The elder averted his gaze but said nothing. In the corner of her eye, Sigurd stepped back and leaned against the wall.

“If I go with you, this might happen again. They come, we run, we hide somewhere else… but we may have to do this for years to come. For the rest of my life. We were safe for a while, but now…” Deirdre choked up on the last word, noticing at last the tears clouding her vision. “All I am is a danger to you.”

“We’ve known the risks since you were born. Since your mother was born among us, even,” the elder said.

“But the Cult wasn’t so active when my mother was alive. Not like now. Our luck may not hold the next time they send search parties for me. They’ll go through anyone, anywhere.” The sinking feeling worsened as the truth left Deirdre. “You’re safer without me.”

“What in the world…?” A murmur from Sigurd, who’d remained quiet. A subtle anger rode in his tone.

The elder cast a look at Sigurd first, Deirdre second. “What will you do, then?”

“I already know I can’t stay here. None of us can,” she answered.

“This is your life, dear.” The elder leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Will you join us in the northern mountains?”

“I’m not sure…”

Though glad to know where her people would go, Deirdre had no answer for the elder. Her first thought would’ve been to follow them to the mountains after dealing with Sandima. However, this would do nothing about her greater concerns in the long run. Without knowing the full size of the Cult of Lopt, none could count the number of allies Sandima might have waiting in the shadows. The Cult’s conniving and ruthless reputation had been part of why most ruffians or rude men never incited much fear from her: the Cult was much worse. Hiding from them had defined her entire life, and nothing about this would change. Not even going to a new home.

Deirdre glanced at Sigurd, and a new possibility struck her. Running and hiding had proven their limits. Standing firm and fighting warranted a try, perhaps, but the idea of putting others in danger remained. Keeping her eyes on the nobleman, she found the words to finish her thought. “If I go with him, I can at least stop Sandima. Yet even that may fail…”

Surprised, the elder drew back. “Dear, what are you saying?”

She lowered her head. Many words came to mind, but none left.

“An army has a better chance of fighting back,” Sigurd interjected.

“You would take her to a battlefield?”

“Not if she doesn’t want to. Just…” The nobleman squared his shoulders. “Perhaps it’s not my place to say, but I don’t believe anyone should live an entire life in fear of what ‘might’ happen. That’s not good for someone’s well-being.”

Nothing in his tone had sounded rude or forceful, but what he said caused Deirdre to bristle. She fought to control her tone. “So what would you have me do? Live with wild abandon and no regard to consequence?”

“Of course not,” said Sigurd, “but would you rather live like this, afraid to go anywhere because of a maybe?”

At first, she thought to protest. The meaning behind the question soon sank in, though, and the bristling stopped. The worry, too, hovered near instead of flooding all lines of thought. Unable to think of an answer, Deirdre gripped the staff tighter and kept quiet.

“You don’t realize what you’re asking her to do,” said the elder, more cautious than angry.

Sigurd stepped away from the wall but didn’t quite join them. “May I ask, then, why the Cult would search for Deirdre?”

Deirdre lifted her head in time to catch the elder’s inquiring eye. A moment passed, and she breathed deep. “We should tell him.”

“Are you certain of this?” the elder asked.

“Yes.”

The elder’s expression stayed the same. At length, he nodded. “If so, we should tell the young man everything. If you wish to go with him, he must know what sheltering you will mean.”

“Of course.” Deirdre signaled for Sigurd to join them. “What do you know of Saint Maera?”

The nobleman’s brow knitted before he straightened his posture. “I heard he defected from the Cult of Lopt and aided the Crusaders during the first Holy War, but nothing beyond this.”

The elder nodded again. “Those born of his lineage faced prosecution because they shared the same ancestry as the Cult. Our hamlet is—was—home to Saint Maera’s descendents, but over the centuries, their number dwindled. Deirdre’s mother, Cigyun, was the last of them. Cigyun left us when she was a young woman, and she returned many years later pregnant with Deirdre. Sadly, she did not survive the birth.”

Deirdre looked down, taking a moment to mourn the mother she never knew. “I’m now the last of Saint Maera’s bloodline… and as such, the Cult can attempt to resurrect their dark god through me. I know not how, but the possibility exists so long as I live.”

“I’d heard the odd rumour or two about the Cult’s plans,” Sigurd murmured. “We’ve had no luck verifying anything, though.”

“Because of this, the fortune teller who raised me said I shouldn’t associate with men,” Deirdre went on, “and neither can I let the Cult find me.”

“And if you’re to join me, the Cult may follow.” Sigurd cast a glance out the doorway. “Where I’m going, a clash of armies will break out sooner than later. You’ll face worse danger than the occasional ruffian. I welcome your assistance, but you must know the risks. In a pitched battle, it may difficult for you to stay with your escort. I would know.”

Deirdre said nothing but bobbed her head.

“Nothing says you always have to take to the field, of course, but we can discuss this further later. Rest assured, if you come with me, my army will protect you. I won’t force your hand. This is your choice to make.”

“Indeed.” The elder grasped both her hands and shared a sad smile. “We’re running late. Whatever your final decision, I won’t stop you. You’ve grown much in all your years. I’m proud of you… and I will miss you.”

“The same to you, elder.” Deirdre breathed deep again, shuddering somewhat from the tears to come. Thinking over the conversation, a sense of calm took root. Not a strong sense, no, but tangible. It was enough. Perhaps standing her ground warranted a try, but the fear loomed ever close.

Nonetheless, she gave her answer. “I’ll go with Lord Sigurd. I’ll miss all of you, elder. Take care, and may the gods watch over you.”

“May they watch you as well.”

* * *

Thereafter, the elder departed with the hamlet’s people, and Deirdre left with Sigurd. Deirdre cast a look at the hamlet now and then, and each time, all traces of it shank until distance, trees, and darkness hid her old home from view. She allowed herself to cry, but she no longer looked back. Though Sigurd urged her to keep moving, his tone of voice remained gentle and polite.

The two spoke very little at first, watching for obstacles or potential threats to avoid. Sigurd put himself in the lead but listened well to Deirdre’s directions and followed the light from her spell. They shared some of the berries she’d picked on the way, taking care not to run through the supply too fast. Once she indicated all they had to do was go straight, Sigurd gestured for her to walk beside him.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “We’ve had no time to rest.”

“No, we haven’t… but I’m okay, Lord Sigurd.”

“You’re sure? Even after making such a choice?”

“Yes. Soldiers in an army train to defend themselves and the nations’ people. It also wouldn’t do to let fear seize me forever. I’ll be okay.” She meant it, too, despite the remaining uncertainty. “Thank you for your concern.”

A quiet laugh left him, but his face and tone turned somber. “I was thinking over what we discussed, and… I’m not sure your bloodline has cursed you as much as you think.”

Surprise shot through Deirdre. “Why do you say so?”

“Saint Maera’s line is no different from those of the Crusaders, so it’s possible any children you have may not inherit the blood. Take my sister and me, for instance. We are descended from the Crusader Baldr, but Ethlyn didn’t inherit the brand as I did. As such, the only one of us who can inherit our ancestor’s treasure is…” Sigurd gestured to himself. “While any of Ethlyn’s children _may_ inherit the Brand of Baldr, there’s also a good chance they will inherit a different brand or not show one at all. I can’t see why I’d be any different, even compared to my ancestors.”

She couldn’t hide her bewilderment. “That’s… true.”

“Indeed.” Sigurd smiled again. “So it’s very possible you can live out a full life, complete with marriage and children, and not one of your descendents would inherit Saint Maera’s lineage. Not the slightest bit of it.”

Deirdre looked ahead, trying to imagine the possibility Sigurd spoke of. Before this night, she hadn’t dared entertained it. Now, she let it play out. The lifelong doubts crept up, though, and the vague but happy images faded. She stared at the grass and dirt. “Why are you being so kind? We’ve known each other for mere hours.”

“I see no reason not to. I also won’t force you to stay with me. If you wish to leave after we defeat Sandima, you may do so.”

“You speak true. But whether I leave or not, it could all go wrong. I could be found, taken from any life I build… my children targeted, used…”

“It’s also possible none of that would happen.” Sigurd stopped and leveled his gaze with hers. “All I meant was, you shouldn’t have to live in constant fear. You’d never see the ocean, the beaches, or open fields. You’d never see the view from a mountaintop. And for every stranger you meet with ill intent, another might become your friend. Aren’t these things worth living for, no matter the danger?”

Clearer images formed now. Wide fields leading to vast beaches, catching the rolling tides. A mountain ledge from which people watched the sun rise or fall. Laughing and walking with other folks in the former scene; camping with them in the latter. Acts so familiar from life in the hamlet, and yet so different due to the setting alone. Different, due to a sense of freedom. Different, and joyful, due to others joining in the revelry, such as Sigurd and his sister.

The gripping fear loosened its hold. Her heart pounded from trepidation and anticipation both. The former gave further ground to the latter. A greater certainty quelled the remaining doubt from the hamlet, bringing with it calmness. Finally, Deirdre lifted her head and stood tall.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of fear,” she said, “but I think I would like to try.”

“I’ll do all I can to help you.” Sigurd made a quick bow. “On the honor of House Chalphy and the Crusader Baldr, I swear it.”

Deirdre nodded. The smile which crossed her face came naturally. “Thank you, Lord Sigurd.”

* * *

The two resumed their journey. Along the way, Deirdre and Sigurd finished the berries she’d picked so many hours ago. She hadn’t gathered many before Sigurd fell into her life, and most of the foliage on the route either produced no fruit or any other edible item. The moon moved across the sky, and they reached the Heart of Verdane. Following the shoreline, they ventured north and observed the greenery.

As the slightest hint of light dotted the horizon, Deirdre at last spotted the bushes from the scrying spell’s image. She pointed out the orange berries to Sigurd and said, “We’re almost at the camp.”

He gave a brief nod and went ahead. Deirdre followed at a brisk pace.

Not long after, light from a dimming campfire caught Deirdre’s eye. It must’ve also caught Sigurd’s because he moved faster. He stopped and put an arm in front of her when something rustled in the woods.

A man’s voice followed. “Lord Sigurd?”

From a short distance on Sigurd’s left, a young man with blue hair and rider’s clothes emerged. He stared at them both wide-eyed, but the spear remained by his side.

Any tension in Sigurd’s stance fell away. “Finn!”

A mix of joy and relief crossed the other man’s face. “Thank the gods you’re all right! Lady Ethlyn and Lord Quan have been worried sick!”

“I imagine so. I should go see them; put them at ease.”

“Allow me to lead you.” Finn cast an inquiring look upon Deirdre. “Milord, might I ask who this is?”

Sigurd made the introduction quick, claiming Deirdre was a volunteer, and the three traveled to the army’s camp. The soldiers had occupied some space in a clearing in the forest, although some soldiers had set a couple scout outposts closer to the Heart of Verdane. Others must’ve been on the other side of the camp, just out of view. To her relief, Deirdre recognized one area they passed as the place shown by the scrying spell.

The three weaved between the collection of tents. Although Deirdre was certain more nobles filled the ranks besides Sigurd and his family, not one tent distinguished itself from the other. Deirdre had no idea how Finn figured out which tent to stop at, but he did.

And as soon as he announced, “Lord Sigurd’s back!” a person burst out of the tent. The young woman found by the scrying spell, in fact, and she seized Sigurd in a tight hug. Any surprise Deirdre felt upon witnessing the sudden movements changed to joy as Sigurd returned his sister’s hug.

Ethlyn, for her part, spoke fast. “I was so worried! No one knew where you went. Sandima’s forces advanced on us before we could check. We settled here, but our scouts couldn’t find any sign of you even after several hours passed. All we found was your sword.” She let go and took a step back, catching her breath. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Sorry to have worried you,” said Sigurd. “I spent the whole night looking for you all, and I must admit, I’m beat. I wouldn’t have found you if not for Deirdre here.”

Deirdre bowed. “I did very little. If anything, I might’ve made looking for your brother more difficult. My apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it now.” Ethlyn bowed in turn. “Thank you so much for what you did. We’re in your debt.”

“It’s good to meet you, Lady Ethlyn,” said Deirdre. “I think now, Lord Sigurd needs some sleep.” The nobleman let out a brief, sheepish laugh in response.

Another person emerged from Ethlyn’s tent then: the brunette man in black from the vision, Lord Quan. He expressed similar sentiments as Ethlyn, although they were a bit dulled from a sleep not quite shaken off.

But after, something mischievous appeared on Quan’s face and seeped into his voice. “So, Sigurd… you disappear, and you come back to us hours later with a new lady friend. What were you doing?”

Deirdre turned away. Warmth blasted from her cheeks to her ears.

Red spread over Sigurd’s face in seconds, but the frown he directed at Quan showed more amusement than ire. “I dislike you.”

While turning away further, Deirdre noticed soldiers emerging from the tents, including Prince Jamke. Many sleepy faces followed the voices of the nobles, which appeared to snap the grogginess out of them. Once the soldiers filled the spaces between the tents, they cheered. Applause went out, and Deirdre joined in. She tried not to read too much into the gentle smile Sigurd bestowed upon her. After a while, the noise calmed, and the crowd dispersed.

Quan turned serious and faced Sigurd. “Now that you’re back, we’ll need to form a plan of action. Some of our troops are still on the mend, and you’ll want at least a nap before you go anywhere.”

Sigurd chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day when someone ordered me to go to sleep, but you speak true. This should give the wounded a few more hours to heal. We’ll hold a meeting at noon. That’s all I have for now.”

He relayed some orders for the scouts, after which Ethlyn escorted him and Deirdre to a couple empty tents. Many questions swirled in Deirdre’s mind, but she opted to hold onto them for now. She’d have plenty of chances to ask later.

Before retreating into the left-side tent, Sigurd bowed once more. “Thank you, Deirdre, for bringing me back to my family. Your help was invaluable.”

“You give me too much praise, milord.” Despite this, she smiled.

“Get some rest. You traveled just as hard as I did tonight, and we’re going to need your help again very soon.”

 _Yes. Against Sandima._ A sobering thought. _It’ll be my first time fighting with an army._

And yet, the fear didn’t grow. It flickered, yes, but it didn’t swell.

Here amid a nobleman’s army, amid new people and friends among them, Deirdre felt ready. She could do this.

She would face the future.

**Author's Note:**

> \- This occurs during chapter 1 of _Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War_ , specifically the last third or so. Given the sheer size of the game's maps, I took some liberties regarding how long it takes for people to go from one part of the map to another.
> 
> \- I don't know if the lake in the middle of Verdane has a name, so I made one up.
> 
> \- I'm a bit unclear whether the term's supposed to be "Loptyr" (as in _Fire Emblem: Awakening_ ) or "Loptous" (as in _Fire Emblem Heroes_ ). I went with Lopt since those four letters are the same between each.


End file.
